


Red

by helena_s_renn



Category: Def Leppard, Music RPF
Genre: Crack, M/M, Strip Poker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 20:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: Joe loses at cards. Sav loses his pants.





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> This is fiction... never happened. No claims to anything or anyone. 
> 
> Incorrect terminology (in UK terms) for a certain article of clothing is part of the crack.
> 
> Beta/review by ChristianHowe. Any remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Also used as a Ficmas prompt on Rockfic.

-1987

Joe threw his cards face up on the table. "Three kings... suck it!" The pot was by no means towering. He'd already lost every cent he had on him, and, to his bandmates' amusement, every stitch of clothes. Usually, Joe was quite good at poker. It must be pre-show jitters. Once he was broke, they let him continue playing for articles of clothing. He wasn't the only one. 

Steve hadn't fared much better. He was sitting in plain white pants - the only thing a bloke could wear under white jeans, he asserted when asked if he'd stolen them from his grand-dad's closet - and one sock, bare foot up his knee, which he was bouncing in some uneven pattern that likely meant he was solo-ing in his head. He was also chewing his nails, generally twitchy. Sav was shirtless. Besides having everyone's money, Phil and Rick were still completely dressed. 

"Full house, aces over deuces. Guess that means _you_ can suck it!" Phil crowed, fanning his cards. He reached for his belt, but only for show. "You're done, we should have dealt you out the last time. That leaves you with... dare." 

"Aw, come on! I need to win back some dosh for later. We're not playing Truth or Dare. How about an IOU?" Joe countered. 

The others next to Phil, Steve on one side and Rick on the other leaned in to consult. Their animated whispering was a sure sign of being up to no good. Especially Rick had that evil glint in his normally warm dark eyes, that Joe was going to regret this. 

"Ok, we've reached our decision," Phil announced. "If you lose this time, you have to wear Steve's pants... onstage."

"What? No way, you perv! I couldn't get one leg into those, much less--" 

"It's not that big," snorted Steve. 

"Like you'd know!" Sav put in. 

"Well, we all know you do, you scream almost as loud as he does," Phil retorted. 

"Jealous?" Sav looked entirely too smug. 

Phil blinked like it had never crossed his mind. He glanced fondly at Steve, and then pointedly at Steve's lap. The half-naked guitarist had the grace to cross his legs, which was something Joe had never considered. Like, ever. "Nope. Not once," Phil went on. "I'm satisfied." 

"Daily. Hourly. Don't I know it?" muttered Rick. "Get on with it," he said, louder, to Phil. 

"Right. This time you can't welch either. If you lose, you have to wear his pants on stage," Phil, making an executive decision, pointed at Sav, "whatever he has on right now. You oughta be able to squeeze your arse - and whatever - into his clothes." 

Sav blushed as the rest of them stared at him, seemingly with X-ray vision. "Oh, look at him," Steve said in a loud aside to Phil. "They must be naughty." 

"I'll bet you fifty quid - each - they're lacy knickers," Rick leaned forward to say to the Terror Twins. 

"Are not!" insisted Sav. "No way I could play if my bits were wrapped in silk and satin." 

"Ha, sounds like you have experience with that." Now it was Joe with the evil grin. His eyes ran over Sav, what of him could be seen before the edge of the table blocked him.

"I never said that!" 

Joe was like the horse with the proverbial bit. "Where have you been hiding them?"

"Hiding what?" 

"Your knickers, your ladies' underclothes. Your panties!" The leer on Joe's face was practically another band member. 

"Show us your tits!" Phil cat-called, ogling Sav's chest. "Oh wait... I mean, show us your pants." 

"No fucking way. If I had lost fair and square that'd be one thing, but--" 

Phil made his voice all sugary. "Aw, look at him, lads, he's shy." It only made Sav redden further. "Sight unseen," he said to Joe. "Deal or no deal?" 

"Deal... deal the cards, and no cheating." 

'Who me?' Phil's face said. Besides, they all knew Steve was the only one with any skill at sleight of hand. "Same to you, mate."

Phil dealt. After his draw, he had a pair and a two-card straight. Not so good. Joe was doing his Cheshire cat impression, meaning he either had something great, or total junk. The other three folded. "I'd say you're about to lose your shirt, but..." Phil bluffed. "In or out?" 

"Well..." Joe side-eyed Sav. Everyone moaned. 

The bassist huffed. "Why is it you all just assume--" 

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Steve stared at him, eyes narrowed. "Take a joke, Sav." 

_"What the fuck?"_ Rick mouthed to Phil, who shrugged and mouthed back, _"Later."_ They were saved from the awkward moment by Joe, who decided, "Call."

"Read 'em and weep!" Phil wasn't bidding higher. All he had to do was be right about Joe's hand being shite. 

He was. 

"Whoo!" "Loser!" "Take it all off, Sav!" followed. Seven fists began to bang on the table, and four voices chanted, _"Pant-IES, pant-IES...!!"_

"Er... can't stand up right now," Sav said over the racket. 

"'Cuz you already did!" tittered Rick.

"Oh my god, he's got a boner," Phil announced to the world at large. "Sav likes the thought of Joe wearing his panties. Go on, Joe... I'll bet you can talk him out of 'em. You can stay in the game for another round."

"You're on!" He turned to Sav, who was on his left. "C'mon mate, I'm flapping in the breeze here. Hand 'em over." 

"Real smooth, Joe. Is that the line you use to pull?" 

"No... you're harder than the average bird." Realising what he'd just said, Joe coughed, then laughed. 

By now, Sav's flush had extended down his chest. He crossed his arms over it. 

"What color do you suppose...?" Steve wondered aloud. "Lavender?" 

"Black!" Rick voted. 

"Commando," suggested Phil. 

Joe glared at him, to which Phil blinked in an innocent, 'who, me?' before he amended, "I suppose you can't wear his nutsack. Turquoise."

In a sudden move, Joe leaned to his side and went for Sav's belt. Scuffling, smacking, and the sound of two chairs scraping across the floor was followed by a long, naked pair of legs seen mid-tackle. 

Two pairs of eyes were averted. The third... "We should leave now," Steve coughed. 

"No, not yet, we still need confirmation," protested Phil, who was up on tiptoe trying to view the floor show on the opposite side of the table. "Besides, holy shit, look at 'em, they're making me randy!" He had to be half-dragged from the room by his Twin and Rick, who grumbled, "What doesn't?" 

"Me, too," Steve's soft voice distracted him. "Well, gotta admit it... so let's play for who gets to..." They were gone, or no one was listening. 

Three minutes later, Joe wheezed, "Red, huh?" 

"Have fun wearing them now." Sav was decidedly disheveled, with half a white-boy 'Fro and half-flattened hair, eyeliner smudged across one cheekbone, wearing only his socks. In the classic ode to bad taste, Joe pressed tiny, crumpled, bright red pants to his nose and inhaled deeply. "Nasty!" hissed Sav. 

"Says you!" Joe countered. "He who's had his tongue so far--"

"You love it." That was undeniable, and enough to shut Joe up. 

Mostly. As if expecting a protest, he asserted, "I'm keeping these for good luck."

"You do that... don't want 'em back now." 

"So what else have you been hiding?" the vocalist asked. He had already heaved himself to his feet, and was trying to stuff himself into Sav's panties, as they'd forever be remembered in infamy. "Whips and chains?" 

"Well, I do have handcuffs somewhere..."

"Handcuffs? Is that what happened to my..." 

"Thirty minutes, boys! Thirty minutes!" The stage manager's voice rang up and down the backstage halls. 

Sav snatched his little black-and-leopard jacket to cover himself. He whistled the first line of the chorus of Photograph and threw Joe one of those looks that meant he'd have to bide his time, but probably not for too long. 

 

Fin.


End file.
